“In the land hallowed by living metal, the antichrist shall rise.”

That particular woman’s prophecies, he had heard, were absolute. Stroking his chin, Sam Bluett-Duncan shifted on his stool, contemplating what he had seen.

He had been travelling through Yemen, helping victims of the ongoing humanitarian crisis - a faction had rebelled against the president, and the neighbours had gotten involved. Those neighbours had picked their targets by throwing darts at a map blindfolded - planes and magi descending wherever the dart did.

Though he had tried to get an audience with the leaders involved, he had been rebuked with a load of nonsense about ‘appointments’ and ‘security protocols’. He was a Paladin, a warrior of God; why did he need an appointment? Their religions may have been different, but it was the same God.

Why did they deny His word?

Without an answer, he had tended to those affected, delivering food and water, and building temporary shelter for the displaced.

It was in one of those shelters he had found the book: a completely accurate history of the world from the twelfth century onward, written one week before the first event. It stretched into the future, too, and the outlook was bleak.

It had taken him a while to figure it out. He had viewed it metaphorically, that the living metal was perhaps something molten, and he was looking for the site of a volcanic eruption.

The rest of the entries, however, were rather literal, so he had flipped his thinking. There was only one land hallowed by living metal he could think of. He had travelled through there a few times, most recently the year before. Encountering an interesting fellow with a funny name, he had been forced to deal with a Japanese yōkai that had somehow made it into the country.

So he had ventured to Blackpool, intent on finding the antichrist and putting a stop to Armageddon before it started.

He hadn’t known where to begin, though, so he’d set up his mobile confession booth outside an arcade next to the beach.

It was nothing more than a white tent, big enough to comfortably house even his massive frame. In front of him was a dividing cloth with a small slit.

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.” The voice was male, jovial and a little husky.

Sam jolted; he hadn’t actually been expecting anyone. Advising the lost children of God was therapeutic, and often he found his own wisdom to be the answer to his problems. He chalked it up to the Father’s influence.

Still, the number of believers was dwindling. People didn’t see the need to confess their sins anymore; he needed to make sure to properly guide this lamb.

“I’m not your father, I’m a Paladin.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Sam coughed. “Sorry, it’s a bad habit I picked up. Tell me, my child: how have you sinned?”

“Well, the other night I had sex with these six girls-”

Knitting his brow, he muddled through the tangle of questions rising in his throat. Far be it for him to judge how another satisfied their urges, but the mechanics left his brain upside down.

“Is six not a few too many?”

“They didn’t give me much of a choice, father, it was all or nothing.”

“I’m not your father, I’m a Paladin.”

The voice sighed. “Yes, we’ve established that, but I can’t just call you ‘Paladin’, can I? Unless you want me to call you Artix.”

Nodding, Sam hummed. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“So, father-”

“I’m not your father, I’m Artix.”

“Fine,” said the lamb, sounding strained. “Artix. Anyway, we had a great time, and I forgot about it-”

“That’s very rude.” What was the point of sharing such intimacy with someone if you didn’t even remember it? His head was spinning.

“And interrupting people isn’t? I thought you were supposed to listen to a confession, not commentate on it!”

Pondering, Sam pursed his lips. “You’re right. Apologies, my son. You were saying?”

The confessor cleared his throat. “Yeah, so I was with another woman the next night, and then another one, you get the picture. Thing is, it all happened so fast I didn’t realise quite how badly my dick was itching.”

Sam’s stomach dropped. “And how is that itch now, my son?”

“Bloody unbearable; I had to rig up some velcro so it shifts with my movement. Took me a good two hours.”

Sam blinked. “Innovative of you. Have you had it tested?”

The man chuckled nervously. “You see, it’s not that easy. I’m part of this really influential family, and my boss wants me to keep an eye on my other boss, and I even got her to make me her personal escort. But I keep getting distracted and losing her, and I’d rather that not get to the top.”

He suppressed a sigh. “Be that as it may, child, I believe the testing to be quite discreet. If it is positive, you must tell all of the women you have slept with recently if you wish to cleanse your soul.”

“So, what, just send a text, or…?”

Palming his face, Sam said, “you must meet with them, if possible.”

The lamb gasped. “But what if I get kicked in the balls?”

“Such is the price of repentance. It may even stop the itch.”

“I suppose,” said the confessor, grumbling. “Thank you, fa-Artix.”

“I’m not Fartix, I’m a Paladin.”

There was a rustling of tent flaps, and Sam allowed himself to relax. That had gone well, hadn’t it?

More rustling, and the sound of stool legs scraping on the pavement.

“Forgive me someone, for I have sinned.” This voice was also male, but deeper and rougher, clearly a local.

“And tell me, my child: how-”

“And I know not where I should begin.”

Making a pinched expression, Sam said, “that’s quite alright, my son, perhaps-”

“Some days it feels like you just can’t win.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry, is this actually-”

“No matter what you do or say.”

“The karaoke bar is inside the arcade, you know.”

“Sorry mate,” said the confessor, “but this is my first appearance in two chapters, and I’m not even being shown. Or named. Gotta make an impression somehow.”

Rubbing his temples, Sam stared at the slit in the fabric. “I concur, my child, but do you have anything to confess?”

“Hmm. Never really been the religious type, but I could use some advice.”

“What about?”

“Well, I have this - we’ll call him a pet - turtle, and he’s absolutely massive. Like, ride on his back wherever you need to go massive. Anyway, I was just chilling the other night when I looked out the window, and there was this guy walking down the street, just minding his own business - my turtle gobbled him up like a jellyfish. Usually he only eats traffic cops.”

Sam gulped. “And have you told anyone about this?”

“No.” He heard the sound of shifting. “I don’t think I could do that to him; how would I get anywhere?”

Pressing his lips together, he said, “should such convenience really prevent you from doing the right thing?”

“It’s not just that.” The voice paused for a moment. “We’ve got a bond, you know? Been through a lot together. I’ve still got the bite marks on my wrist.”

He nodded; those who always fought but stayed together were the closest, he’d found. “But in your heart, which path do you believe to be the correct one?”

There was a long sigh from the other side of the curtain, like a leaf blower with a turbocharger. “You’re right; if people are dying because of me, then I have to be the one to put it right. Thank you, father.” The stool scraped as he got up to leave.

“You are always welcome, my child.”

“I’ll put an end to him with my own two hands.”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Throwing the stool back, he reached out an arm in futility. “Can’t you just call animal control?”

It was too late; the lost lamb had gone.

Should he chase him? Even now, he was probably too far to catch; there was no way Sam could pick him out of the crowd.

With a sign of the cross, he muttered a quick prayer for the man, that he not end the day in a turtle’s digestive tract.

He didn’t even hear the tent flap.

“I must confess, I’m not actually all that religious.”

This voice was a woman’s, clipped and alluring and posh. She was probably from a high-class family.

“That isn’t a sin, my child.”

“Are you sure? Wars have been waged over it.”

Sam pulled his collar. “The church has evolved; you are free to believe what you like.”

“Then, I can confess?”

“Of course, my child: tell me how you have sinned.”

She scoffed. “I wouldn’t really call it a sin. Just a silly prank I played on an acquaintance, really, but he seems to be getting more and more troubled by it. At first it was hilarious, but now it’s just getting sad.”

“And what was this prank?”

“Well, he was staring blankly out of the window, so I decided to make it a little more interesting for him.”

An eyebrow rose. “How so?”

“I placed an illusion on it. I believe he saw his pet turtle eating a random passer-by.”

His jaw planted a flag, being the first creature of flesh to ever make it to the Earth’s core. His prayers had been answered. Having asked the Lord for a sign, he had been shown one: it was his duty to ensure man and turtle didn’t come to blows.

“First,” said Sam, sweating, “you must admit your wrongdoing to this acquaintance, and tell him that you’re sorry.”

“I don’t see why I should have to apologise, it was just a little joke-”

“Then, you must make sure he knows that the turtle is innocent, and stop him from euthanizing it.”

“Did you just say what I think you said?”

“Just hurry! You haven’t much time.”

“Okay…” The confessor’s voice sounded unconvinced, but he heard her get up to leave.

Slumping, he heaved a sigh of relief. That should take care of the problem.

But since when did turtles get big enough to swallow a person whole?

He didn’t have time to ponder when another person entered.

Stuffy silence reigned over them, Sam shifting in his seat as the confessor failed to say anything.

“Do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and saviour, Count Dragula?”

He fell off his stool.

“Are you okay? That didn’t sound good.”

“Yes, yes, absolutely fine,” he said, reseating himself. “That’s not actually how confession works, you know. Do you have a sin you’d like to get off your chest?”

“Not really; I haven’t done anything wrong recently. Though I did see something weird the other night.”

He perked up. “Please, do share this with me.”

“So I have these friends, right? And they’re a bit weird, but they’re good people. I think. Anyway, one of them has a pet turtle, and I think we both saw the same thing, which is-”

“The turtle ate an innocent bystander.”

“How did you know? Anyway, I know it wasn’t real, because Choo-chooin would never hurt an innocent person-”

“No names, please.”

“Right, sorry. So the turtle’s a good turtle, but he thinks different. And then earlier I saw my friend trying to fight the turtle-”

Ripping the curtain back, Sam stood tall and looked upon the girl on the other side. She was young, maybe late teens or early twenties, and she was monochrome. One of God’s more unique children. She stared at him with wide eyes.

“Terribly sorry,” said Sam, adrenaline pumping through him, “but this is an emergency. We have to stop them; please lead the way.”

“Uh, okay,” said the girl, exiting the tent.

He followed, and saw masses of people milling around at a three-way junction. Across the road was a McDonald’s, and to either side bustling streets full of tall buildings.

The girl took off in a jog. “This way.”

Following, he kept his legs in a steady rhythm, despite the distance. Their run seemed endless, his muscles and lungs burning when they finally came to the forecourt of a two-storey building with two signs stacked atop each other.

In the forecourt were a bearded man, a tiny woman, and a giant turtle. The turtle was sunning itself to the side, whilst the man and woman were locked in a fist-fight.

His heart didn’t know whether to drop or soar: that was a face he knew.

“I keep telling you,” said the woman, brushing blows aside with ease, “it wasn’t real!”

“Don’t screw around!” The man put everything into his strikes, spit flying from his teeth as he snarled. “I saw it with my own two eyes! He ate a person, and not even a traffic cop! Just a regular person!”

“Yes, well…”

“Hold on,” said Sam, striding over to them. “Jack?”

Turning, Jack’s eyebrows leapt up. “Sam?”

The woman took the opportunity to blast him with magic, a shower of sparks crumpling him to the floor. “By the way,” she said, “it was an illusion. I was messing with you.”

Laughing mirthlessly, Jack turned his gaze to Sam. “I’m so glad you’re here, mate. I’ve got a job that’d be perfect for you.”

He cocked his head. He was always happy to help a fellow child of God. “And what would that be?”

Jack stared up at the sky. “Protagonist.”